Homely Mary

Been thinking I ought to drink alone more.

Hear me out.  I recently read a book called Rules of Civility, about a clever young girl in 1930's Manhattan, who gets swept from her workaday typing job into the glamorous world of smoky jazz clubs, glitzy parties, and lavish vacations.  She speaks in snappy noir bon mots, knows the best late-night diner in the city, and often, she ends her day by walking into her apartment and mixing herself a cocktail.  All this conventional wisdom against drinking alone, and yet, our heroine Katy Kontent makes it feel so very right.  I mean let's face it:  drinking makes us happier and better-looking.  Right?

It's kind of a Don Draper thing.  And see how well that turned out?  I really feel like it'd make my life better.  I want in.

But, ugh.  Stupid drinking comes at a cost.  Despite all attempts to be Zen/French about it, I am in a constant battle with calories.  And there's the issue of waking up useless the next day.  And, if I'm gonna be honest, I don't actually see the point.  Like, I'm alone, I get drunk, and then what? I lie on the couch watching TV just like I would have been anyway, only I fall asleep faster?  I love to drink, but I do because it makes me more social.

Am I doomed to never experience the mystique?  Is there no mystique?  Seriously, can someone explain this to me?

Well, I've come to decide that my home cocktail making isn't going to be about the buzz, but the bite.  And what drink typifies bite better than a Bloody Mary?  I love a Bloody Mary:  I like that it comes with nearly a meal of garnishes (did you know that the Bloody Mary at Bludso's comes with a bit of beef rib tip?  Kind of amazing.)  I like the horseradishy heat, and that it's completely savory.  I love that it usually signifies a bit of luxury -- it's brunchday, and you're going large.*

In the priggish January atmosphere of cleanses and new beginnings and all that silliness, I'm afraid I've jumped on the bandwagon, taking a boozy indulgence and turn it into a boringly low-calorie snack.  But the fact remains, it's delicious.  And only as complicated as you want it to be.  At it simplest, throw some ice into a glass, pour in tomato juice, and stir in a big gob of horseradish.  Stop there, or go wild with additions:  Old Bay, pickled veg (these beauties, perhaps?), smoked paprika (yum!), Worcestershire, celery salt, fiery hot sauce (anything from Tapatío to Sriracha), wasabi, fresh-squeezed lemon juice.  Anything goes.

So, maybe I'm not cut out for solo drinking after all.  Health and productivity are good things as well, right?  I don't know.  Not convinced.

Homely Mary

The last time I made one of these, I added Worcestershire and a bit of truffle salt.  It varies every time. You do as you please.

1 can tomato juice
1 Tbs horseradish
splash Worcestershire sauce (optional)
dash truffle salt (optional)

Add a few large ice cubes to a glass.  Add tomato juice, horseradish, and Worcestershire; stir vigorously to combine.  Sprinkle some truffle salt on top.

Makes 1 serving.

* I still dream about a Bloody Mary I had at beloved Prune in NYC.  A group of friends (the UAFTP: United Angelenos for Transcontinental Playgoing, obvs) were in the city to see a play a favorite friend had written.  Miraculously, our group of five was seated at tiny Prune at the height of brunch rush. We got our own weird table downstairs from the main dining room -- the only one there, just outside the kitchen.  Two in the group had gotten engaged at Rockefeller Center the night before.  The food was incredible.  Spirits were high.  And my Bloody Mary, picked from a menu of about 10 different ones, came in an oversized thin glass tumbler, with an entire garden of pickled vegetables, and came with a beer back in a tiny tumbler.  Good memory.  (bad hair.)

Announcements, Announcements, Announcements!

(You're totally singing the song now, aren't you?)

Hi friends!  Let's discuss some exciting bloggy bookkeeping things, shall we?  Boring, yes, but if you get to the end, you get a prize.

1. I'm very excited to tell you that All Kinds of Yum is now part of the Daily Meal Culinary Content Network.  A couple weeks ago, I got a nice email with the subject "We Love Your Content", because clearly someone intuited how easily I am swayed by flattery.  From there, I was easily sold:  it's a group of great blogs around the country, all tied together by thedailymeal.com.  I'm thrilled by the chance to gain feedback through the group, and hope to bring some new eyes to this space and more voices to the conversation we have here.  And as you're seeing already, it's motivating me to spend more time here.  Good thing.  Here's hoping it lasts.  You'll see the Daily Meal's footer at the bottom of the page.  If you ever get bored with my blahblahblah, just click through for tons of delicious reading and viewing material.  
2. Lots of link cleanup.  Now the links to the right point to pages I actually read.  Today, in 2014.  Cleaning house, see. Click around -- lots of good stuff from people I've grown to love.
3. All Kinds of Yum has a Facebook page!  Horray!  Huzzah!  I'm super excited about it.  Throughout the week, I see so many things I want to share with you -- restaurant news, awesome LA stuff, sweet food art -- so many things.  Things that inspire me, and that hopefully inspire you, too.  Just as I believe that the real power of food is the way it connects people, I kind of dream that the page can be a place where food connects people, too -- through the conversation of the future, Facebook comments.  I encourage you to join in.  Like the page right over here.

And on a serious note, I love this time of year -- everyone is filled with so much hope and potential, so much motivation and positive energy.  2013 has been so crazy for so many people that it almost makes me believe in unlucky numbers (Almost, but not.)  I was pretty absent here in last year.  I tried to write once this summer, but the end result was so depressing that I couldn't bear to post it.  I mean, I was writing through tears.  I've had my share of ups and downs this year, but the end result has been deep awe and serious gratitude.  There were a few weeks in September when I couldn't stop saying to myself, over and over, "Everything is amazing."  It is.  

I'm super excited to be back writing here, and I'm deeply grateful (like, kind of to a psychopathic degree) for every single click, every comment, every share.  It means a great deal to me.  I wish each and every one of you a very happy new year.  Here's to a 2014 filled with slow peaceful time with nature; moments of buzzing ecstasy; unexpected surprises; challenges to keep us aware, alive, and grateful; sparkly connections with old friends and new; soul-satisfying food and drink throughout it all; and most of all, love.  Everything is amazing.

Oh! The prize:

it's a cat.  dressed as a shark.  chasing a duck. on a roomba.

Truly, everything is amazing.

HomeState: Texas in Los Feliz

Texas.  Lone Star State.  Home of cowboy hats, Tim Riggins, and people who say y'all.  I've had the good fortune to work with quite a few Texans, and what I've learned is that when you talk to Texans about their home cuisine, tears might well up in their eyes.  There's some serious passion behind delicacies like queso, breakfast tacos, Texas barbecue (why, oh why have we not talked about Bludso's here?), and -- unknown here, but ubiquitous there -- the bready, fruit-topped Czech pastries called kolaches.

It's clear that this kind of passion is behind the new Texas-themed restaurant, HomeState, that recently took over the old Storefront space in Los Feliz.  You immediately feel the place's hospitable vibe -- there's a giant sign behind the open kitchen that says "Welcome Home"; a dark wood bookshelf is filled with books, knick-knacks, and bags of Austin's own Cuvee Coffee; and pretty white cake plates by the counter hold piles of that very stuff of legend, kolaches.

kolaches!

The flavors here are familiar and super satisfying.  A fat breakfast taco of eggs and shredded brisket is smoky and gooey, on a fresh, thick homemade flour tortilla (which you can also take home by the dozen).  There are in fact several varieties of  breakfast taco, including chorizo, refried charro beans, and a potato, bacon, and cheddar combo.  (There's even an egg white and mushroom taco, which I will likely never try, though I appreciate the concession to the needs of the neighborhood.)  Also included on the breakfast menu is migas -- eggs scrambled with crispy strips of corn tortilla, cheddar, and various add-ins.  All are served with red and green salsa that are appropriately fiery, and very fresh.

classy frito pie

We didn't have any of the lunch mains (sandwiches, tacos, and a couple awesome-sounding salads will have to wait for another trip), but we did try a couple classic sides:  the Frito pie, Fritos with homemade chili con carne and toppings, were served out of a Fritos bag, but the complex flavors of the rich chili belie the kitschy-trashy presentation.

queso

And of course, their queso, served with tortilla chips, is properly addictive.

HomeState achieves the Texas theme with a welcoming coziness and a little bit of hipster savvy.  The espresso drinks, made with Cuvee coffee roasted in Austin, are better than they need to be.


The back wall is lined with green glass bottles of TopoChico, a Mexican mineral water popular in Austin.  And to drive the down-home point home, the O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack quietly played in the background the whole time we were there.

hospitality for all

They also have buñuelos in a bag, which I can't believe I didn't try.  Doesn't matter; I'll certainly be back.  Living in Los Angeles, there is very little regional food that still seems exotic to us.  So it's always exciting to be introduced to a new world through its food.  Texas has invaded Los Feliz with deliciousness, hospitality, kolaches, and really great coffee.  I for one welcome the takeover.

--
HomeState is located at 4624 Hollywood Blvd., between Vermont and Hillhurst.

Grand Central Market: Where pig snout meets eggslut

I have some concerns about Grand Central Market.  I'd like to talk about them.

But I'm getting a little distracted.

the slut, with biscuit

The first time I went to Grand Central Market was probably about a decade ago, when Downtown LA held tons of promise for an urban explosion, but we weren't seeing much yet.  At that time, I noticed a few things.  Grand Central Market was amazing.  A huge, bustling open space, mountains of produce, aromas wafting from pupuserías, taco stands, Chinese steam plate places, and more.  It was a little rundown, but this didn't detract from the magic.  And the vast majority of the clientele were speaking Spanish.

open kitchen

Fast forward to 2013.  As we know, the Downtown prophesies came true.  And, you know where this is going: a somewhat absurd rant about gentrification from the very person the Market's new tenants are there to cater to.  Not the first time.  Indeed, we kill what we love.  The latest additions to Grand Central Market include eggslut, home of the 9 dollar breakfast sandwich, Valerie Confections, beloved bake sale contributors and purveyors of delicious, high-end chocolates, and G&B Coffee, notorious among my circle for the time, back when they ran the coffee service at SQIRL Cafe, that they gave one friend her to-go coffee in a jam jar with a bandana wrapped around it, snickering at her request for half-and-half, then charging her seven dollars for the lot.  Um.

the happiest of breakfasts

So, yeah, I'm all for progress and all, but, as always, I'm conflicted.  But I recently checked out eggslut, and honestly, the food was so delicious that it's hard to scoff.  What I loved was the attention to detail.  I mean, the fat-salt-pork formula is hard to mess up.  But, when someone asked for butter with their warm, tender, perfectly cooked biscuit, the chef made sure the server sprinkled some flaky salt on it before handing it off.  The signature dish -- named The Slut, natch -- a velvety potato puree topped with a coddled egg and served in a jar with crostini on the side, is accented accented with a sprinkle of celery salt.  And, even their simplest bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich is really well-executed and totally satisfying.

g&b

Across the market, G&B now offers actual paper to-go cups.  Their space is laid out like a bar -- you walk up and give your order to a friendly and appropriately dapper barista.  And my little macchiatto, served in a Gibraltar glass and topped with a foamed-milk heart, was wonderful.

hard to sneer at the movement that brought this sunny patio

So, what do we think, kids?  Is Grand Central Market's unique local color doomed?  I for one am not too worried about it at the moment.  There are a few of these new hipstery fancy stands, but for the most part, the populist bustle of the Market remains.  If the attempt here is to turn Grand Central into San Francisco's uber-gourmet Ferry Plaza, happily, it has failed.  Because, just as we were waiting in line for our precious sandwiches, another equally eager line was forming at the stand next door, to order every imaginable part of a pig, from an age-worn, hand-edited sign, all in Spanish.  

trompas y orejas y riñón, oh my!

(And also because I like fancy coffee and slutty eggs.)

--
Grand Central Market is located at 317 S. Broadway, between 3rd and 4th Streets. It's a 5 minute walk from the Pershing Square Red Line station.

Churros: The Official Hanukkah Food of Los Angeles

A new post, one year later.  Is this awkward?

Seriously, people, food blogging is such a giant pain that Instant Gratification Monkey often takes over, sometimes for months (or year. welp!) at a time.  But there have been so many moments lately that led to me telling myself, man, I really should blog.  I really should!  From a glorious summer Stone Fruit Feastival in Griffith Park, to an LA River coffee shop pop-up at a gorgeous Frogtown design firm, from an opera performed throughout Union Station, to a tapas pop-up (we're into pop-ups here) at an artspace/foodspace that's run by volunteers and constantly changes form, menu, and message, I just feel like Los Angeles has been offering me so much awesomeness lately that I need to share.

So, for this moment, here I am.  I make no promises.  Get it while you can.

Early Arrivals

And I'm here today to talk about a crucial movement that began way back in 2011.  It started with a simple inquiry:  Echo Park resident Daniela wanted to celebrate Hanukkah with the fried-in-oil foods that are traditional for the holiday, but didn't want to stink up her apartment with the frying.  So she asked Mr. Gold -- Jonathan Gold, Pulitzer Prize-winning food writer laureate of Los Angeles, that is -- in his eponymous column, where she could find good churros.

multi-culti

He of course picked up the cultural significance of her genius idea, "a pastry that layers the mandatory Hanukkah use-of-oil motif with contemporary Los Angeles pluralism."  Churros for Hanukkah had begun.

We here at All Kinds of Yum (ie, me, Tannaz) really love contemporary Los Angeles pluralism and made-up Hannukah foods.  Needless to say, we were (I was) stoked.

the full crew

The first year, we walked down to Salina's Churro Truck in Echo Park, ran into local heroes Bruce and Avishay and their crew of fellow fried dough enthusiasts, sat on some steps where some people were playing cribbage, and churroed up a storm (of cinnamon sugar, obvs).  It was pretty magical.

This year and last, we went to Mr. Churro on Olvera Street.  Though I am partial to the knobby, imperfect fritters that come straight from the fryer (and are sold 8 to the bag) at Salina's truck, Mr. Churro sells his churros filled -- with custard, cajeta, condensed milk, or even guava.  We downloaded a dreidel app, tried to remember the words to our favorite Hanukkah songs, and even danced in the plaza as Olvera Street lit up with crowds of people for Las Posadas.

a churro friend from last year

So I am calling on you, dear reader, as Hanukkah 2013 nears its end.  Go forth and celebrate the miracle of oil with the best our city has to offer.  Latkes, schmatkes.  Tonight we dine on churros.  

Way Past the Last Minute Gift in a Jar

Shall we do bullet points again?

• I am late for everything always, and am a bit lackadaisical when it comes to holiday obligations.  (I mean, there's something unfit about that phrase, 'holiday obligations', in the first place, don't you think?)
• Hipsters love jam jars.  (A friend once said to me, without irony, "I kind of have a jar fetish."  Judge me if you want, but I kind of do, too.)
• Everyone loves booze. (Unless you don't.  If so, sorry to exclude you.)
• Hey, remember that gift in a jar thing we used to do around here in the early days?

With that, let's talk about Kentucky Egg Nog Spike.

This year, I was actually not at all lackadaisical about holiday gifts (just about sharing them here).  In fact, despite not having religious ties to the season, I felt the urge to seriously Christmas it up.   I put up the most adorable felt mistletoe, lit a tiny spruce-scented candle, and set off to buy a carton of egg nog.  Reading labels at the store, everything from Broguiere's with its hipster-magnet oldy-timey glass bottle, to the organic stuff, had weird ingredients.  Artificial flavors in one, unpronounceable mysteries in another.  Bummer.  This didn't stop me from picking up a carton anyway, but when I got home, I started researching recipes.  

What I learned: I will never make egg nog.  Doing so would put me eye-to-eye with the frightening mass of egg yolks, heavy cream, sugar, and other incredibly unhealthy things that go into this sugary omelet-disguised-as-beverage, and I just don't have the courage for that.

However, amidst the nog search, I came across a recipe for something called Egg Nog Spike.  A combination of spirits infused with delicious warm spices, designed to add a little liquory life your groggy nog.  Mix together some brandy, bourbon, and dark rum, then throw in some vanilla beans, cloves, cinnamon sticks, and cracked nutmeg.  Jar it up and let it sit for at least a week, up to months.  I put this together with a little arts and crafts project (the labels came together from an old brown bag, a black sharpie, and a pencil for drawing circles and lines), and thus came to be my very pretty 2012 holiday gifts.

 I know Hanukkah and Christmas are past, but this would be a lovely thing for a New Year's Eve host.  And it doesn't have to be relegated to nog:  I think it'd be great on the rocks with a little milk or cream white Russian style, or pour some in your coffee for a little bit of spiced Christmas magic to last into the new year. It's a great addition to some hot cider, too.

You can find the recipe here on Epicurious.  I made 4 batches, to fill 8 16-ounce jars.  And if you pour a tiny bit extra of each liquor, you'll have some left over at the bottom of the bowl to save for yourself, which I absolutely did do.  

I hope you all are having a cozy, warm holiday season, and I wish you guys a spirited and lovely 2013!

correspondence and cauliflower

Back before technology took over our lives, if you wanted to convey a message, you had only a few choices: You could either talk to a person on the phone, handwrite a letter, or actually converse face-to-face.  And that was pretty much it.  But, the options we have when it comes to communication have exploded in the last couple decades.  And though I'm sometimes at odds with the fast-paced correspondence of today, I recognize that each of these options has a distinct value.  

First came email.  I still live for long, meaty emails where I can unload paragraph after verbose, emotive paragraph -- ahh, sweet indulgence.  I love IM for covering the essentials of the day, cracking up in real time with far-away friends, sharing a quick link or dishing the latest gossip.  And then there's text, which I'll never fully embrace.  The world seems to enjoy its choppy shorthand, but for me, it's a little too impersonal, and often leaves me feeling estranged.  So, obviously Twitter is of little use to me either.  And there are all the new options that come from Facebook:  you can announce to the world that you're now In A Relationship, present your political stance, or share your favorite falling penguin video.  And let's not forget the fine art of the Facebook comment:  keep it light, get your point across quickly, and above all, be clever -- the world is reading!  (Not to mention its old offshoot, the Evite comment:  same deal, but for some reason, with added pressure.)  Across online media, there's the simple gesture of the 'like':  quickly give your acknowledgement, without committing so much as a single word -- it's like the digital equivalent of a nonchalant chin-nod.  

Not that you need words to communicate anymore:  you can post a photo to show how cool you are (or how adorable your kids are, or how amazing your morning smoothie looks).  Then apply a filter to make your yellow fluorescent-lit living room look retro-sexy, and add some blur to fuzz out those embarrassing magazines on the counter.  You can combine five photos together to pack even more information into a single image.  And then there's the amazing world of animated gifs.  Seems like hardly a coincidence that it sounds so much like 'gift', when it grants us gems like this:  

My medium of choice?  Bullet points.  I employ them at work, whenever I'm faced with the delicious task of technical communication*, and they're so effective there that of course they bleed into my regular life.

So, on with it.  Let's discuss last night's dinner.  It was too good not to share.  This recipe was inspired by:

• This amazing-looking recipe for cauliflower and feta fritters.  I always feel an affinity for Smitten Kitchen's vegetably main course recipes (not that the margarita cookies are anything to scoff at).  Boiling, then mashing, then adding then egg, then frying seemed like way too many steps for me, but the combination of cauliflower and feta sounded awesome. 
• The insanely delicious fried cauliflower at Sunnin Lebanese restaurant in Westwood.  We used to go here in college back when it was a tiny and brightly lit hole-in-the-wall.  Now they've got a big fancy dining room.  Not the same, but the cauliflower, deep fried until it's totally browned on the outside and served with tahini, is a revelation.  Who knew you could crave cauliflower?
• The fact that I had a half a cauliflower in my fridge that was nearing its last days.  (the start of most recipes in my kitchen...just living the Everlasting Meal dream...)
• The miracle of modern technology that is the 10-minute farro at Trader Joe's.  Have you had farro?  It's awesome.  It's a slightly sweet, flavorful grain with a bit of satisfying chewiness to it.  It makes great grain-based salads, both hot and cold.  Sadly, it takes about 45 minutes to cook, but the other day I discovered small bags of par-boiled farro at Trader Joe's that cook up in 10 minutes.  Tremendous.  

So, I put all these inspirations together, added in some other scroungy things from my kitchen -- fresh chives, dried mint that was once fresh, and some toasted slivered almonds from the freezer, and came up with a warm, filling, and balanced dinner salad.  As always with these saladbook guys, variations driven by what is in your kitchen and what is your flavor preference, are wildly encouraged.  Please share your findings!


* My friend Jon had a t-shirt that said "I know I'm efficient, tell me I'm beautiful."  In nerdy moments like these, that sentiment resonates like no other.

Warm Farro Salad with Cauliflower and Feta

This would be just as good cold (though I'd add an extra squeeze of lemon juice right before serving).

1/2 cup 10-minute farro
Olive oil
1/2 a head of cauliflower, split into florets (smaller florets are better, because you get more browny bits and it cooks faster, but whatev)
Cumin
2 Tbs slivered almonds
Dried mint (or fresh)
2 Tbs crumbled feta
Chives, chopped
Lemon juice

Make the farro according to the package's 'simmer' instructions.  While it's simmering, heat a large pan over medium-high heat.  Add cauliflower and a tablespoon or two of olive oil.  Sautee for about 10 minutes, turning pieces occasionally so all sides have a chance to brown.  In the last minute or so, add the cumin, slivered almonds, and mint, and toss to combine.  (Note:  if your slivered almonds are raw or blanched, throw them in a couple minutes early so they have a chance to toast.)  Turn off heat under cauliflower.  Add farro, leaving any liquid in the pot.  Add feta, chives, and lemon juice, and toss to combine thoroughly.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Variations I want to try:

• something sweet:  pomegranate, dried cranberries, raisins?
• maybe broccoli instead of cauliflower, maybe roasted instead of fried (we like roasted broccoli around here.)
• tahini in the dressing (that's what the amazing fried business at Sunnin is served with)
• honey in the dressing
• sunflower seeds or pine nuts instead of the almonds

fresh green garbanzo beans

Just because I'm not here doesn't mean I'm not thinking of you, neglected reader.  I'm filled with intent to write:  about lofty ideas like the intersection of simple offerings and true hospitality, about my strong (and might I add, correct) opinions regarding the kind of restaurant that Los Feliz really needs, about the amazing book An Everlasting Meal by Tamar Adler and how it's changed my life.  I've wanted to write about summer, about newly teetering work-life balance and the mix of pride and ambivalence I feel about that, about an impromptu recipe for stuffed and fried squash blossoms that was at once crisp, vegetal, and meltingly creamy, about the three beautiful farmers markets that my neighborhood offers, about the perfection that is Proof Bakery, about how I've managed to distill down what I love in a restaurant, about how my apartment requires throughput in the form of dinner guests.

The ideas pile up, and they get a little oppressive.  Who can write under all that pressure?

But this post pretty much wrote itself.  Drew itself, really.  Fresh, green garbanzo beans impelled me to take their picture at every stage.  When you see an old, familiar ingredient in such a bizarre and otherworldly new light, you can't be flip about it.

A friend was out of town last weekend, and generously had me pick up her farmshare and use as much of it as I wanted.  Among a bounty of yellow zucchini, giant jalapeños, Swiss chard, strawberries, and more, I also got a massive bunch of fresh garbanzos.  And by bunch, I mean an unruly jumble of oversized, nappy branches, sprinkling tiny leaves wherever they passed.  And on each one was an abundance of adorable, fuzzy little pods.

It turns out that garbanzos are a slow food through and through.  Some might see it as a burden, but for me, sitting at my kitchen table, first snipping probably a hundred little pods off the branches, then splitting (some of) them open one by one, sent me right back to childhood.  My mom would always give me the task of pulling fava beans from their long fuzzy pods, or picking bitter seeds out of sticky dried lemons, and these manual tasks are as satisfying and soothing now as they were then.

2 chickpeas in a pod

As I said, I did harvest some of them from their tiny pods, to boil and add to a salad of kale, tomatoes, and fresh basil.  But I had another idea for the rest.  In keeping with the patience their preparation required, I wanted eating them to be slow, too.  I roasted them in a grill pan until their pods were slightly charred, to be peeled at the table:  a sort of cross between edamame and grilled shishito peppers.

It worked!  Though all of the seasoning goes on the chickpea's inedible skin, bits of salt and smoky char invariably end up on your fingers, and from there find their way into your mouth.  Totally satisfying.

the aftermath

Pan-grilled Green Garbanzo Beans

Obviously this won't work on a real grill, as the little guys will fall through!  But if you don't have a grill pan, I think any pan would work here.

Green garbanzo beans, still in the pod
Olive oil
Salt

Heat a grill pan over high heat.  Drizzle garbanzos with olive oil, toss to coat all of them.  Add to grill pan, and after a couple minutes, stir.  Try to allow both sides of each pod a chance to brown.  Once you've got some char, but before beans burn completely, remove from pan to a bowl.  Toss with salt, then cover with a plate to allow them to soften further from their own steam for a few minutes before serving.

Panacea: Ricotta Cheese

I was reminded recently that I never delivered on the promised Part II to this post.  Better late than never?

So, we made ricotta.  Though, as I read about ricotta, I get the sense that our ricotta is not really ricotta.  Ricotta is Italian for 'recooked'.  Because, evidently, it's traditionally made by reheating the whey left over from making some other cheese, adding in some acid to pull out the last remaining bits of protein and make them into something edible.  We are not the goddesses of efficiency that the ancient peasants of the Italian countryside were.  We buy our acid from Surfas.  We make our cheese from milk.



Regardless, though, making cheese at home is not hard at all, pretty inexpensive, and really satisfying.  In broad strokes, you heat up salted milk, add an acid (we used ascorbic acid in powder form, you can also use powdered citric acid or lemon juice (though I hear that the latter doesn't set up quite as well as the other two)), and watch as it curdles.  It's fascinating -- just like Little Miss Muffet, you end up with a pot of completely separate curds and whey.  Then, you scoop out the curds and drain them over some cheesecloth, and in the case of our recipe, mix in a bit of half and half to beef it up.  That's it.  Easy peasy, ricotta cheesy.


The end result was creamy, slightly spreadable, with a mild flavor that would go great with sweet or savory.  But then, wee took it one step further: we used some of the resulting cheese for a next-level cheese experience -- ricotta salata.  You take ricotta, add more salt, and press it in a cheese mold: in our case, a large clean tomato can with both ends removed.  After a couple days in the fridge, weighed down with a heavy jar, you get a more strongly flavored semi-hard cheese that you can grate or slice. 



I tend to fly fast and loose with dairy, and make substitutions based on texture.  Aside from classic uses like lasagne, cannoli, or just spreading on bread with whatever (I would choose honey), I could see sneaking ricotta into artichoke dip as a lower-fat alternative to sour cream or mayo.  And how good would it be mixed with some brown sugar and vanilla for a dip with fruit!  (I want that now.)  And the ricotta salata is great on a cheese plate or grated into a salad.



Two kinds of cheese and house-cured salmon, all in an afternoon.  Maybe we are goddesses of efficiency after all.

Our recipe came from Jam It, Pickle It, Cure It.  Smitten Kitchen has a more decadent take on ricotta.

Back to Whack: Miso Kale Stirfry

We all know that it's good to eat balanced meals, but here's the thing about balance:  when you've been eating in a balanced way, it makes sense to continue with the balance.  But when everything is out of balance, you kind of need to eat something unbalanced in the other direction, in order to restore the balance?  That's totally clear, right?

In other words, when everything's out of whack, and you're trying to get yourself back to whack, you need kale.  The last couple days have been a bit of a gorgefest:  amazing homemade pasta at Osteria Mamma (get the pappardelle al fumo: it's insane) last night, leftover pappardelle for breakfast (don't judge), leftover gondi kashi from my parents' house for lunch yesterday.  And then today, at the lovely Lyric Cafe, they gave me a piece of banana walnut cake with Nutella and whipped cream, for free.  I had to eat it!  I had to eat all those things, actually -- none of these are things you say no to. 

So the idea of the saladbook recipes -- a quick, but balanced meal of vegetable, lean protein, and whole grain or legumes -- gets thrown out the window.  I'm not even hungry for all those things, I just need a little bit of vegetables.  And what kind of LA cliche would I be if the vegetable I turn to isn't kale? 

You could easily balance this out by adding some diced tofu after the kale has steamed, and serving it over some brown rice.  But for tonight, a totally unbalanced bowl of kale is all I need.

Miso Kale Stirfry

 White miso (it's actually more beige than white) comes in big tubs, and adds saltiness, a little nuttiness, and in general tons of savory flavor to everything you add it to.  (And if you are looking for some literary miso inspiration, check out the incredibly thorough treatment it receives in the second issue of Lucky Peach.)  Note that for this recipe, you will wash the kale after you've cut it.

2 cups unwashed raw kale, thicker stalks removed, leaves cut into 1-inch wide strips
1 tsp flavorless vegetable oil (canola, corn, peanut, grapeseed, etc.)
1 clove garlic, chopped
2 tsp white miso
1 inch piece of ginger, peeled and grated
1 tsp mirin
tiny dribble of toasted sesame oil
red chili flakes (optional, I opt against)
toasted sesame seeds to garnish

Rinse the cut kale, then place it in a colander to drain.  You want some water to stay on the kale -- you'll use this to quickly steam it before stir-frying.

Add oil and garlic off to one side of a pan over medium heat.  When the oil just begins to bubble, lower heat.  Add kale to pan, but do not stir in oil and garlic just yet.  Cover, and cook over medium-low heat until kale looks bright green and barely cooked through, about 2 minutes. 

Meanwhile, combine miso, ginger, mirin, sesame oil and chili in a small bowl. 

Remove cover from pan, and increase heat to medium-high.  Toss kale to coat with oil and incorporate garlic.  After about 2 minutes, add miso sauce to kale and toss to distribute.  Cook another minute or so, until sauce is heated through.  Serve topped with sesame seeds.

Makes 1 main course serving on its own, or 2 servings as a side or part of a larger meal.